


loving you is a losing game

by coupe_de_foudre



Series: loving you is a losing game [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: (partly), 5 + 1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, no beta we die like men, oc pov bc why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: Blake finally reached the tree and Schofield looked up at him before reaching a hand out. Blake took it, allowing himself to be pulled down to the ground.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: loving you is a losing game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640236
Comments: 31
Kudos: 136





	loving you is a losing game

**Author's Note:**

> So I was reading up about [army ranks](https://apply.army.mod.uk/what-we-offer/regular-soldier/rank) because I was curious about what responsibilities a Lance Corporal has. As it turns out, they supervise small groups of up to 4 men so this fic is largely inspired by the idea of Blake and Schofield having individual groups of men. 
> 
> I also read up about [homosexuality in WW1](https://www-theweek-co-uk.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/www.theweek.co.uk/history/95476/the-secret-history-of-the-gay-soldiers-who-served-in-the-first-world-war?amp_js_v=a3&_gsa=1&&usqp=mq331AQCKAE%3D#aoh=15815029102290&csi=1&referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com&_tf=From%20%251%24s&share=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theweek.co.uk%2Fhistory%2F95476%2Fthe-secret-history-of-the-gay-soldiers-who-served-in-the-first-world-war) and learnt that it was sometimes an act that happened between lower ranked soldiers because they weren't as punishing as those higher up. 
> 
> So...yeah, this fic was written as a result of my research xD
> 
> Enjoy!!

“What've you got?” Richards asks, turning to Wood and shooting him an inquisitive look.

  
Wood bit his lip, pulling out a half-emptied bottle of whiskey and showing them both it with a shrug. “This? Is that good enough?” Harry tried to hide his smile, shaking his head.

  
“Hardly a fortune,” Richards scoffed, “Sure. Why not?”

  
“Shake on it, then?” Harry suggested, and his comrades nodded before holding their grubby hands out to each other and shaking with a confidence that doesn’t belong to two men that had just bet on the sexuality of two of their fellow men. “Idiots.”

  
Richards turned his judging glare on Harry, pointing his canteen at him before taking a swig of his water. “Shut up. You’re the one adamant they’re already together!”

  
Harry shrugged, smirking. “I have my reasons.”

  
“Fuck off,” Wood snickered. “You just don’t wanna lose fuckin' money so you took the easy option.” Harry shoved his friend, biting back a laugh when he fell to the mud below. Wood was about to start shouting a string of profanities at him when they were all interrupted.

  
“Alright, fellas?” a familiar warm voice spoke up behind Harry and the three men turned to face young Lance Corporal Blake. At only 19 years old (making him younger than both Harry and Richards, yet still their superior) Blake had secured himself an early promotion with his excellent map reading skills and ability to take to training like a bee to pollen. He was the friendliest Lance Corporal that Harry knew – probably due to his young age. 

  
“Sir,” the three of them said in sync, straightening up and standing to face Blake. Harry tensed his jaw to not laugh when Wood groaned at the state of his khakis.

  
“What’s going on here then?” Blake asked, gesturing to Wood and Harry.

  
“Just friendly roughhousing, sir.”

  
“Drop the sir, Miller.” Blake frowned, “Or I’ll start calling you Private.”

  
Harry smiled, nodding. “Alright, Blake.”

  
“Better.” Blake's frown quickly melted into an easy smile. “You men best get some shut-eye soon, sun’s going down and we’ve a busy training day t'morra.” 

  
“Aye-aye, Captain.” Wood joked, Richards slapping him upside the head whilst Blake simply chuckled. 

  
“Watch it, Wood. Y'know where cheek like that gets a man.” Blake teased before leaving them to it. Wood shuddered beside Harry, and he knew the younger man was thinking about being reassigned to Privy Duty.

  
Eventually, he, Richards and Wood settled down in their usual spot, not too close to the main crowd of men from their unit but not too far either. The sky had changed almost unnoticed by them. That’s the thing with being in almost the middle of nowhere - Harry has come to realise – the sky here is so much different to that of back home. Here, at night, a midnight canvas is scattered with endless twinkling stars that feel like his own little angels watching over him. At home, being a city boy, Harry rarely got to watch the stars. He loved nights like this, warm enough to sleep outside.

  
Light snores came from behind him and Harry smiled at the knowledge of his friends falling asleep already. Typical.

  
Glancing over to his right, Harry spotted Lance Corporal Blake walking in the direction of his designated resting spot. It's a lone tree, a little further out from Harry's position, and there’s already a body leaning against it. Lance Corporal Schofield, of course. The two men shared the tree – so often that it was now known, by their collective group of boys, as ‘their tree’. 

  
The two men had been the subject of Richards' and Wood's bet; the boys that trained under their order had a sneaky suspicion that there was something more than just friendship going on between them both. However, it was a well-known fact that homosexuality was illegal back home and out here things were different. Most men weren’t bothered, each keeping to their own. At the end of the day, a man has needs and many Tommies believed that helping a friend let out some of that pent up frustration was not only acceptable but also essential for a better atmosphere between everyone. 

  
Crowds of sexually frustrated men cramped together in barely liveable environments was hardly anyone’s preference to just letting to men fool around.

  
Unfortunately, those higher up had much narrower mind sets. It wasn’t much of a problem, though, as long as nobody spoke of it too loudly. 

  
Hence, it explains why both Blake and Schofield keep themselves very much to themselves. Richards and Wood had made a bet about whether they were just friends or whether they were suppressing emotions. Harry, however, was almost completely certain that they were already together in some way or another. 

  
This suspicion was proved further as Blake finally reached the tree and Schofield looked up at him before reaching a hand out. Blake took it, allowing himself to be pulled down to the ground. They didn’t appear to talk although, from this distance, Harry can’t say for sure but they both looked to be comfortable. Blake lays down on his back, next to Schofield, and Harry reckons that if he could the younger man would have rested his head in Schofield's lap. But that would be too risky. Instead, he’s as close to Schofield as physically possible without raising unwanted questions.

☆♡☆

Another habit between Lance Corporal Blake and Lance Corporal Schofield that Harry has picked up on is how they share things. Food, in particular. There’s often times when Blake won’t come into the mess and eat with the other men – Harry isn’t too sure why, and after asking around it turns out nobody actually knows where he goes during these times. 

  
Schofield always shows up, though. He'll usually sit with his boys (Johnson, Perez, Simmons and Lee, all good men that Harry gets on well with). Not that he talks much; Schofield seems to be a rather quiet character who tends to keep to himself. In fact, now that Harry thinks about it, he’s sure he could count on one hand the amount of times he’s actually seen Schofield smile.

  
Today happens to be one of those days that Blake doesn’t bless them with his presence and the missing laughter of funny childhood stories from a farm boy are very obvious. The chatter in the mess is oddly subdued.

  
Harry's busy shovelling chow down, stomach rumbling nonetheless, when he happens to glance across the aisle to Schofield's table. It's at this time that he watches Schofield subtly pull out a small tin from his jacket pocket and slipping at least half of his meal inside before hiding it away again. The process is all done so carefully and quickly that Harry doesn’t think anyone else even saw it happen.

  
Thinking back to times when Schofield has shared his precious stash of bread and biscuits with Blake, whenever the younger Lance Corporal has complained of being hungry, Harry can only presume that Schofield is taking the food for Blake. Everyone knows that if you miss meal time, that’s your responsibility and you’ll just have to make do. The lack of hesitation that Schofield shows when it comes to sharing his food with Blake would explain why he’s cautious about his friend not eating.

  
Harry's thoughts are later confirmed, as he takes a lone stroll through the nearby field during their free time and catches sight of Schofield and Blake sat a few metres away. They’re leant close to each other, Schofield writing in a notebook whilst Blake is scraping food from the tin that Schofield had earlier filled with rice and beans. A smile finds it's way to Harry's face and he slowly retreats back to the camp, careful not to make any noise that might give away his position.

☆♡☆

Harry watches the two Lance Corporals from his position leant against a large rock, Wood sat next to him writing a letter to his family. Earlier that day, Schofield had taken his boys on a run through a safe area, all of them carrying rifles, and bags packed with a handful of stones. Harry didn’t envy them, and he had an inkling that Blake may be getting them to do the same tomorrow.

  
Apparently, during the run, Schofield had experienced a nasty fall; tripping on some loose barbed wire and almost cracking his skull on a sharp rock. He’d been lucky to come away from a slight sprain in his left ankle and a deep cut on his face. 

  
Said cut was now being treated by none other than Lance Corporal Blake (of course). With Schofield perched on a log, Blake crouched in front of him. He's dabbing a damp cloth, presumably soaked in alcohol rub stolen from the medic tent, in an attempt to prevent any infection in the cut. Even from here, Harry can tell that Blake's touch is gentle. 

  
“You’re a fuckin' clutz.” Blake laughs, dropping the cloth and cupping Schofield's face, inspecting the damage better now that it’s been cleaned. “And you say _I'm_ bad!”

  
Schofield scoffs, but leans into Blake's soft touch. Harry warms at the sight, knowing that he should really just look away and leave them to have this moment alone but finding it almost impossible.

  
“What would you do without me?” Blake questions, clearly meaning it as a joke, his accent light and playful.

  
But Schofield doesn’t just laugh him off. Instead, he tilts his head slightly to stare up at Blake (who's hovering a few inches above him) and seems to hesitate, clearing his throat before speaking. “I don't know.” Despite the fact that Harry has to strain to hear them in the first place, Harry can sense the brutal honesty and concern laced in Schofield's voice. It’s strange because Harry has only ever known Schofield to speak with confidence and authority; he’s not witnessed this side of the man before.

  
Blake seems at a loss for words, staring back at Schofield for what feels like hours but is probably only a few mere seconds. He snaps out of it eventually, leaning down and Harry holds his breath. But Blake does the unexpected, yet again, brushing his lips over Schofield’s forehead in a way that Harry believes is much more intimate than if he'd simply kissed the other man. “Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere then, ‘ey?” Blake laughs. Schofield closes his eyes, gripping the hem of Blake's shirt to stop him from pulling away too soon.

  
“Oi, you even lis’nin’?” Wood asks, northern accent coming through thick. Harry pulls his gaze from the two men and towards his friend.

  
“Doubt it was anything interesting.” Harry smirks.

  
Wood jabs him in the ribs, causing him to buckle forward and groan. “Twat.” 

  
“You still love me though.” Harry laughed, kicking at Wood's shin when he moved to throw his legs over him.

☆♡☆

Harry knows, as well as the rest of them, that you're bound to have bad days out here. That means that even men like Lance Corporal Blake aren't an exception – although the young Blake being down is a rarity compared to other men. 

  
Currently, Harry is enjoying the late afternoon sun with Richards, Wood and the boys from Schofield’s group. They're sat a good distance from the camp, hardly able to hear the wild chatter of Tommies. It’s peaceful, and the view of fields is a welcome sight.

  
“Oh, ‘ere we go.” Perez whistled lowly and nudges Harry's side, pointing to their left where Blake is sat picking at the grass below. They hadn’t seen him since breakfast – today had been another free day, and Blake had disappeared as soon as he got the chance. They'd been having more and more free days lately; apparently the German’s were retreating but Harry wasn’t too sure.

  
“Bet ya Schofield turns up.” Simmons said and the others laughed.

  
“You guys bet on their relationship way too much. Starting to think you’re all queer.” Harry joked and Richards kicked him, throwing a harmless insult his way. “Anyway, Schofield's already there.” 

  
The others turned to look and, sure enough, Schofield had just turned up at Blake's side. They watch as Schofield bends down to pick a dandelion from the grass, crouching in front of Blake and hooking fingers under the younger man's chin. He forces Blake to look up at him, away from the ground, and said something that caused the farm lad to laugh with a small shake of his head. Resting a hand on Blake's thigh for balance, Schofield leans closer as he tucks the dandelion behind Blake's ear, brushing hair out of the way. 

  
“Aww,” Lee coos, and Harry smiles to himself. Lee may have meant it in a joking manner, but nobody could deny that this sight before them wasn’t rather sweet. 

  
Schofield seems to whisper something into Blake’s ear, eliciting another laugh from the man. It takes a moment, the two of them appearing more than comfortable in their current position, but soon enough Blake livens up to his usual self and begins teasing Schofield for the mud smeared on his face. Yet, despite his playful pokes, Blake goes on to lick the pad of his thumb and wipe away the dirt.

  
They then start to stand up, and Harry and the boys quickly avert their gazes. It was to no avail, unfortunately, because Schofield shouts out “Enjoy the show, boys?” with a smile plastered on his face, hand lingering near Blake's waist. 

  
“Could’ve been a bit more graphic!” Simmons calls back, “Give us something for later!” The boys around them burst into laughter as Blake flips them off.

  
“Fuck off, Simmons!”

  
Harry finds it amazing how they can even make such jokes. He couldn’t have wished to be serving alongside better men.

☆♡☆

“You’re doing great." Schofield says, coming up behind Blake – who was talking them through tomorrow’s mission. The supplies truck had broken down a few miles out and Blake and his group had been chosen to gather them (probably as a result of Blake’s navigation skills). It was expected to be a relatively small, safe mission since word had been going around that the Germans were retreating. Harry could only hope this was true.

  
Blake startles at the unexpected voice, but soon relaxes. Schofield brushes a hand to Blake's lower back as he moves to stand behind him, his touch lingering more than what Harry would deem as a friendly gesture. Blake turns to watch the older man, smiling up at him and Harry is stunned by the look in Blake’s eyes. Fuck, if that wasn’t love then he's not sure what is. The way Blake’s whole face lights up, his smile blinding, is heart-warming. 

  
It isn’t until Harry notices how Blake's posture has relaxed too, that he realises how nervous the boy had been. Perhaps it’s due to his young age that he feels anxious telling his little group of men what to do – which Harry understands. He'd probably feel awkward bossing around blokes his age or double, but Harry knows Blake is more than capable (he wouldn’t have been promoted if not) and he trusts the boy with his life.

  
“Thanks.” Blake breathes out, and his hand twitches next to Schofield's. It’s sad, really, Harry thinks; they can’t just hold each other, reassure each other, in the way they want to because of some posh snob's opinion. Harry can only hope that, when this war is over and done with, the two of them can live happily together without the watchful eye of their superiors.

  
“Come see me when you’re finished.” Schofield says, not even bothering to poise it as a question because he must know that Blake wouldn’t deny him anything. When Blake nods, Schofield starts to walk away but not before sneakily pinching the younger man’s arse. Blake yelps, swatting at Schofield, but the man is too quick for him – ducking out of reach with a laugh before running back to his boys.

☆♡☆

Harry is sat by his comrades, relaxing in the unusually bright sun, when he spots him. Schofield. Blood dried to hands, head hung low. 

  
His steps are slow and there’s no longer that purposeful stride to them like there used to be. There’s a ring on his hand that Harry recognises - one that most definitely doesn't belong to him. And, as if to confirm the heavy dread sinking in Harry's heart, Schofield is completely alone.

  
He hadn't left alone.

  
Where’s Lance Corporal Blake? Where’s that warm smile and laughter? The soldier with a spring in his step, constantly telling funny stories to keep up morale. The young guy with a heart of pure gold, that gave Harry hope in the midst of this war. The farm boy that would always, _always_ be by Schofield’s side. Where was he?

Schofield meets Harry's eyes as he walks past him. Harry wants to reach out, to grab his shaking hand and pull him into a hug because it’s all he can think to do. He want to speak all his questions aloud, demand Schofield to explain what the fuck was going on. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

  
Carrying on past Harry and the boys, Schofield doesn’t say anything to them. Harry can feel the other boys holding their tongues just as he is, an uneasy feeling settled over them all. A hand lands on Harry’s and he looks to meet Wood's eyes, tears blurring his vision but he’s pretty sure Wood is no better off at this point.

  
They watch in silence as Schofield comes to a stop at his and Blake's tree, all but collapsing to the ground. He brings his knees up to his chest, face buried between them, and his body begins to shake violently as sobs rack through him. 

  
Harry had thought he'd seen his fair share of broken men in his time during the war, but none of them had ever looked like this. Never did they look as hopeless, as shattered and beaten down as Lance Corporal Schofield did in this moment.

Never again did Harry witness Schofield's smile.

**Author's Note:**

> That ending sucked bc I can't write angst for shit. But thank you so much for reading!! Feel free to come shout at me on [Tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> It's 20 minutes until Valentine's Day right now so, in case I don't get to post tomorrow, Happy Valentine's Day guys! Take this as a gift bc I love you all <3
> 
> Also, I got so attached to my OCs here oops. If anyone is interested in more fics from their POV pls lemme know!


End file.
